Auntie A and I
Waiting room stomach cramping
Dry lips and trembling hands hidden
Underneath a hospital green gown
Keeping modesty intact
But letting in the cold draft of the xray room
Mammogram for mama day
Breast sandwiched between icy steel slabs
Indifferent machinery radiation playing eye spy
Hide and seek with your tissue
Is it lurking here
Or there
Days pass
Phone rings
We need a closer look
It’s probably nothing, a handbook soothing phrase
Heart racing, it can’t be…no it’s not. I won’t go there again this time
But you do
You see it again
A day from long ago
Auntie A showing Ma her mastectomy
You are ten and it’s a mystery
You ignore the order to stay in the kitchen with your innocence
Instead you rebel and sneak a peak in the crack in the bedroom and see hell
It’s a black hole where Auntie A’s right breast used to be
And the devils name is Cancer
And it is killing her
You hang up the phone in the present
Don’t say the word, you don’t have to, everyone else is thinking it too
We need to bring in the special forces of the ultrasound
Waiting room stomach cramping
Dry lips and trembling hands hidden
Beneath the plastic garment bag holding
A bra you may not need again
Two cups one breast
You start to panic
This way please you are directed down the narrow walk
The nurse says your name too kindly
Your file is too thick
Cold table, dimly lit room
Romantic lighting for a sterile love/hate affair
Metal paddle sliding, probing
Settling on a black blob the size of a pea
Or a button
Or an aspirin
Or a tumor
Don’t say the word, you don’t have to, everyone is thinking it too
We’ll need to remove this and test it
You can go now
We’ll contact the doctor
You go home and think of that word, but this time you will say it and make it small
Just in case it’s there this time
Cancer
It’s like saying death
If you say it, it will scare it off
And it does
Until you go to bed and it lays there beside you
A hateful appendage like the breast you pretend isn’t there
The breast you have been terrified of for five years
Since they took out the cyst that wasn’t cancer
But wasn’t normal either
The one that put you on this twice yearly rollercoaster from hell
Needles aspirating
Lumps dug out
Biopsy
Safe this time
You leave the office feeling cancer free
You arrive home seeing the gaping hole that used to be your aunt’s breast
And you wait for it to get you too
Oh honey, I read this a few days ago and if I’m honest I felt too desperately sad to make an honest comment. I know so many who have been affected and who have lived this. This is what is important about poetry. You can make a film about it, make a documentary about it and it’s true, they may change the world perception but to have an encapsulated memory that will last forever, for people to look to and realise they are not alone, is so important. You’re the master at such insights and I wish I could hug over this keyboard but all I have is words, again. Onward with the fight, Val. In every respect.
It’s scary. The waiting room. The test results. The beeping of the monitors. The smell of antiseptic. You have captured that knot that forms in such situations in the pit of your stomach so well. Cancer is like saying death. Oh, Val, this has moved me so much….
I’m glad this affected you Selma because my aunt’s death and life mattered to another. She passed away on my eleventh birthday and now that I have to fear this every year, I feel her with me in an intangible way.
Man, your anguish is so powerful and potent. Such words.
Love you…
Hey E
Girl I miss you! My anguish is my muse and without it I may have nothing to say! Ah, us poets eh? 
I wanna submit to tuck again…
please harrass me so my stoner brain remembers…
Stoner E, SUBMIT TO ME
I would like 2 poems if you are so inclined hugs
Seriously engaging & thought-provoking poem, Val ~ the moment I read your opening line I was captivated … & fearing the worst until your final lines. Some wonderful lines, too, particularly ‘your file is too thick’ ~ all of them contributing to the whole of the poem that, although ‘safe this time’, leaves me with a strong sense of your uncertainty. Thanks for sharing ~*